


The Flight of Icarus

by Taupefox59



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And we all love canon, Except this time they're all superheroes!, Gen, It's super tragic, Slash Goggles, So it's just like canon right?, So we like that stuff right?, They die at the end, Who doesn't love superheroes?, but it's the Les Mis fandom, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6976531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Les Amis are the super-hero group that protects Paris, and there comes a day when it's Enjolras's job to protect the Les Amis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flight of Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd for me by the absolutely marvelous  WeTheRebelSkies . Any mistakes left over are my own.
> 
> Con/Crit always welcome!
> 
> \- it's my first fic in this fandom, so I figured, why not start off with a bang?

Enjolras was ecstatic when he presented with powers. He’d spent his entire life watching heroes; bright coloured uniforms, banding together in the face of injustice. Enjolras had watched and  _ wanted _ for as long as he’d known what it meant to want.  

There was so much that he could do as a civilian - and he tried, organizing protests, letter-writing campaign; though it was one thing to stand in the streets with a megaphone, and it was something entirely different to command attention simply by  _ existing _ . For all the enthusiasm that Enjolras could gather, a member of Les Amis - the premiere crime-fighting crew of Paris- and would arrive and suddenly everything would get bigger. Crowds would grow, people would cheer louder.

Enjolras saw it and ,as much as he knew he was doing good work as he was, he couldn’t deny: all he truly wanted was to be a part of the Les Amis.

It would have been an ordinary Wednesday, except that when Enjolras was at dinner he started to tell his parents about the latest rally he was planning and he could  _ feel _ it. He could feel the excitement, burning in his blood, clean and clear. The passion was running high through him.

Then virtually every flammable thing in the living room caught fire.

The curtains, the table cloth, they had to quickly brush burning napkins off their laps and onto the floor, which was thankfully wood, but the carpets in the doorway were burning.

Enjolras had stared at his parents with wide eyes and no small amount of fear, but then he’d turned to the burning room and took a deep breath. If he had started it, he could put it out. He concentrated, feeling the heat of it, imagined pulling all of it into the palm of his hand, and then snuffing it out. When he opened his eyes, the room was charred and smoky, but not a single ember remained.

The next day, Enjolras walked up to their headquarters - the Musain - and requested to join. The Les Amis were everything Enjolras had ever hoped for, more than he could have ever dreamed of. For the first time, he could sit there eating breakfast, with fire in his heart, and burning in his eyes, and people would surround him, supportive. 

The Les Amis were a single group of friends in the Musain, but they split into two crews for going out on calls. There was a ground team, running intel and providing back-up from the base. Then there was the active team, who would actually go out and hit the streets to answer the call.

Enjolras (After several months of training and a probation period) joined the active team. It was the most fulfilling thing he had ever done with his life. So he never told anyone about the truth that beat in his heart. He could set the streets on fire, or stop the roar of an explosion in it’s tracks.

But the one thing that Enjolras truly wished to do was fly.

 

He kept it silent though, as there was no point. His power was  _ his _ , and it was helpful. He could feel it. It didn’t take long for him to rise through the ranks of the Les Amis. He had a clear head for planning, and with the added passion of  _ fire _ , people were more than happy to follow him. Courfeyrac was the face of the operations still, (as always), because for all of the fire that Enjolras had, he had a tendency to come off as more than a bit intimidating in public. 

Enjolras was fine with that. It made sense, after all. Courf was the one who could fly; he was the one that the people would see, swooping through the air and promising that safety was on the way.

The Les Amis operated on two levels. One group would go out into the city to play a more active roll in taking on whatever threats would arise. They were supported by a ground team who stayed at the Musain. 

Enjolras led the Strike team, along with Musichetta, who could entrance anyone who met her eyes.Their Lieutenant was  Bousuet, who for all his clumsiness was indestructible, so every time he fell, there was a good chance he would be taking a wall with it.  Combferre was the field medic, as his healing powers worked on himself as well as others. Bahorel rounded out the team; as a speedster, he was often the first on the scene, and he always seemed to know where everyone was at any time, which came in handy during the chaos of battle.

The ground team was as eclectic as the rest of them. Jolly was a healer as well, but he was the Base team medic, because his healing didn’t work on himself. It was a rule with the Les Amis that no one life was ever worth more than any of the others. 

Feuilly was a brilliant tech, who kept everyone in working armour and kitted out with gear that no one else in the world could ever create. (Though he was most often caught with bousette, planning meetings with Marius Pontmercy, who wasn’t involved with the group, but was very involved with making sure that the Les Amis actually had money to pay for their pursuits.) 

Jehan was the ears of the operation. Xe was the one on the comms, and with eyes on the streets. Xe knew who was where and why, always. No one was entirely sure how xe always seemed to know exactly what information they were looking for, but no one questioned it.

Grantaire filled out the ground team, which caused Enjolras no end of frustration. He didn’t seem to be particularly good at anything, and no one would ever tell him  _ why _ . He had no idea why Grantaire was even there. He was useless at research or interacting with the media. Half the time Enjolras was convinced he was drunk on the comms. Anytime Enjolras made a fuss about it though, his words would hit ice that no amount of fire could melt.

  
  


****

 

Everything changed the day that Marius Pontmercy actually decided he wanted to get involved with the Les Amis. There were some new heroes in town; a pair, and Marius was absolutely positive that he was in love.

Enjolras was wary of letting a civilian onto the team, but he had never been good at turning away any help that was offered. 

Marius Pontmercy became the first non-powered member of the Strike team.

It didn't take very long at all to realize that his entire purpose for joining was to win the attentions of Cosette. Cosette was beautiful, but her powers were incredible. She seemed to have bat-like abilities, able to stun people with a screech. And she could fly.

Eponine was Cosette’s partner could fly as well, and Enjolras was honestly a bit terrified of her power. She could control air; thicken it beneath her until she was floating, thin it out until there wasn’t enough oxygen left to breathe. 

It took a team-up for Enjolras to truly grasp what Eponine brought to the group. A plant-creature had been rising up to drag down the Eiffel tower, and Enjolras had been throwing all the flame he could conjure. Eponine had showed up at his shoulder, and in a few short moments created a tornado of flame that turned the plant-monster to a  crisp in mere seconds. Enjolras had gaped at her, and she had just smiled. She’d wrapped her arms around his chest, and flown them from the scene of the crime before they could get mobbed by reporters.

That was when Enjolras decided that Eponine and Cosette were  _ fantastic _ additions to the team.

  
  


****

 

When it changed, it wasn’t anything that Enjolras had planned, anything that he had ever imagined. Instead of fighting other people with powers, suddenly they were fighting the government. People were fleeing the country in any way they could, food shortages were starting to take a toll as stores ran out of stock.

It was Jehan who made it real: putting out a call for everyone to fall back. The entire team was being called to evacuate. Xe’d taken over every broadcast, every radio station, every television was playing the same message: leave the city immediately. A nuclear bomb had been planted in the center of the city, and the Les Amis couldn’t stop it.

Fear ruled everything then, people pouring from their homes, as if running on foot would be enough to get them out of range of the radiation; as if anything would be enough to save them. People were screaming, and Enjolras could  _ feel _ the fear. Terror was thick in the air, a palpable sense, coating his skin with a sick, shivery feeling like getting dipped in cold oil.

Enjolras watched his team-mates as they began to make their way back to the Musain, and slowly realized that something  _ could _ be done. It was far, far bigger than anything he’d ever taken in before, but that was what he did. He could take the fire, and pull it in. Take it into himself.

Slowly, in a daze, Enjolras took his earpiece out and crushed it under his foot. What did fire mean, if not to consume? To burn brightly until there was nothing left.

Perhaps it was always meant to be, he mused to himself, as he began to run. He was a fish swimming upstream, making his way against the current of people trying to flee from the threat. Enjolras just kept running. All he had to do was get there before it went off. Everything would be fine if he could just get there before the bomb detonated.

  
  


*****

 

The moment that Jehan heard the static and the whine of dead air, xe knew what had happened. Xe stared at the computer screen in silence. Jehan knew so much, knew everything in the world that had already happened. What xe didn’t know was the future. Enjolras had made the decision to try and stop the bomb. There was nothing Jehan could do but bring everyone together, and hope that it would be enough, that maybe Enjolras would be able to save them all. Xe took one last look at the computer screen, sent up a prayer to any power in the universe that was listening, and then turned to chaos that was slowly growing as people returned to the Musain.

 

It was Grantaire who noticed first, among the rushing and panic. Grantaire was the one who started asking, slowly becoming more frantic when no one seemed to know.  _ Where was Enjolras? _

Everyone turned to Jehan, and the in the weight of the silence that followed, it was understood. Enjolras, the one who lived with fire in his blood, the one who could extinguish it just as easily, was about to try and absorb the entire power of a nuclear bomb.

“I couldn’t have stopped him.” Jehan said, quietly. Musichetta walked to xem and pulled xem into a hug.

“No one has ever been able to tell that boy there was something he couldn’t do.”But her voice was loud in the silence of the Musain.

The stillness seemed to last forever, spinning out and stretching, grief and panic mingling into and endless space, somehow removed from reality.

The trance was broken by the echoing footsteps of Grantaire, as he turned and ran from the building.

  
  


*****

 

Enjolras got to the bomb on time. Too early, maybe. There was no timer ticking down, no wires to cut like there were in the movies. It was a silent, unknown countdown. Enjolras laughed bitterly when he thought that if he still had an earpiece, maybe Jehan could tell him how long he had. It wasn’t long for laughter to turn to tears.

Enjolras knew what his choice meant. He knew there would be no coming back from it. He also knew that it was the same decision he would make every time. If all it took to save Paris was his own life? Then it was more than a fair trade.

The park had long since cleared out. He was the only one there, leaning back on the silver case that held nothing but deadly intent and destruction. Enjolras found himself wishing it would just go off, so he wasn’t faced with time for thinking, time for regrets. He didn’t want to remember the faces of his friends, the sound of their laughter. He didn’t want to think of the joy of fire, of the sick irony that the one thing that had brought him the most satisfaction in his life was going to be the thing that ended it.

He didn’t sit and dream of how different his life would have been if he had been able to fly.

 

******

  
  


Enjolras was easy to spot, and Grantaire had never been so grateful for the bright spandex that the Les Amis wore. He began to run across the field and he was only halfway there when it happened. 

Enjolras suddenly turned, and hugged the silver box. There was a crack that sounded as though the very sky itself was splitting, a split second of silence, and then a crashing boom that shook the ground with enough force that Grantaire actually fell.

There was the golden orange glow of flame, and it never got past Enjolras, who stayed still, slumped over the box, dragging the explosion into himself, forcing it down, forcing it out of existence.

Grantaire watched from where was on the ground, cursing himself for not having the courage to get closer. When the glow died down from the molten gold of flame, and all that was left was smoke and char, that was when Grantaire found his feet again. He pulled himself up and ran to Enjolras.

Enjolras who was clearly dying. His face was grey, and there was blood running from his ears, from the corners of his mouth. He stared at Grantaire with complete incomprehension.

“Wha...What?”

Grantaire dropped to his knees and cradled Enjolras to his chest.

“Hey,” Grantaire said softly, “did you ever wonder why we never gave anyone code names?”

Enjolras stared. “Why?” He managed to stutter out, voice thready and weak.

Grantaire smiled. “It was my fault, actually. I had one, and Jehan hated it. He decided we were better off without, and you know what happens if you argue with xem.”

Enjolras tried to smile. If you tried to argue with Jehan, you lost. He blinked, the world was starting to grey out at the edges. The ringing in his ears was getting louder.

“Woah, no!” Grantaire said, “C’mon, Enjolras, you gotta hear the punchline.”

“Whassat?” Enjolras slurred, fighting desperately to keep his eyes open.

“My code name is the same reason I don’t get to leave the Musain.” 

Enjolras frowned. Grantaire had a point, but it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Everything was pain and burning. It had been so long since Enjolras had felt a burn as  _ pain _ . Enjolras opened his eyes when he felt Grantaire’s forehead touch his own.

“I know you always wanted to fly.” Grantaire said.

Enjolras tried to smile again, and nodded as best he could. “Would- would have been nice.” Something wet hit his face and he realized Grantaire was crying.

Grantaire shifted, tightening his grip on Enjolras, holding so tightly Enjolras could barely breathe.

“The reason they never let me leave,” Grantaire said quietly, “the reason we don’t have code names…” He stood up and brought Enjolras with him, “Is because my name is Icarus.”

Enjolras blinked and looked into Grantaire’s eyes. Grantaire smiled, kissed Enjolras gently on the forehead, and then, holding him close, Grantaire  _ flew _ .

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only just exploring this fandom a bit, so if you want to come talk to me about it (or anything else!) come say hi at [my tumblr!](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/)


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